


The Trials of Watari Shinji

by hhhhhhhappycow



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, But there is some hope in here, Car Accidents, Gen, I promise, Implied Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Implied Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru, Implied Mind Rape, Implied Relationships, Kind of angsty, Matter of Life and Death, References to character death and blood, Team Dynamics, a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:27:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24325024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hhhhhhhappycow/pseuds/hhhhhhhappycow
Summary: A scene. A dinner table before a game. Drinks line the table, the same amount as the number of players clustered around it, and then one extra. Voices overflow and spill out across each other, bantering and laughing.Oikawa looks up and out across the street. He’s opposite a window that takes up almost the entire front wall. Outside is a narrow two-way street, cars stopped at the set of traffic lights on the intersection where the restaurant occupies one corner.Movement catches his eye and there’s Watari, on the other side of the road. There are others walking past, but they are faceless and don’t stop. Watari turns and raises his hand in half a salutation. Oikawa raises his own in return. The drink, the empty seat across from him- yes, they were for Watari.The libero begins to step out into the road, and suddenly his eyes flit to the left. Staring at something just beyond Oikawa’s field of vision.There are screams.Everything jolts.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru & Watari Shinji
Kudos: 16





	1. Prologue

-What happened?

- **Please remain calm.**

-What happened to me? Why am I here?

- **What do you remember?**

-I… I was with my friends… I don’t understand. My thoughts- sound- echo-y. How are you in my head? Must be your gift. _Why am I thinking so loud?!_

- **Shhh. You’re right. That’s my gift.**

-To read minds?

- **More.**

-So you’re Central? Why me, then? Why am I here? I didn’t do anything wrong- did I? No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I’m sure. I wouldn’t. So why?

- **What do you remember?**

-My friends-

- **Further-**

-Further-

- **Further-**

-When-

- **Not then-**

-Then?

- **You’re going to-**

Fragments.

The taste of fish, a warm house, mother’s arms.

**-Irrelevant.**

Two dark-haired boys in a park, tussled hair, and goofy smiles. A ball passed between their already calloused hands.

**-Irrelevant.**

-Not-

The smell of his jersey as he slides it off over his head, damp sweat.

-I don’t know what you’re-

The roar of the crowd, drowned out by his own pulse thundering his ears, reminding him that it’s him and not them who will decide this, who will take this.

A city of glass doors and steel walls, rising up and up into the cerulean sky, buildings so much taller than anything he’d ever seen before that he got a slight rush of vertigo looking up at the distant reach of their spires and quickly looked back to the ground, blinking.

Lights. They’re in a club-

Slowly, coherency. Pieces forming a picture.

The constant squeak of shoes on a gym floor, the thunder of feet, and the thudding of bodies. Sometimes it hurts when he drops to the court, but that feeling is always drowned by the relief that floods through him when he sees the ball arcing back up through the air, the surge of adrenaline screaming at him to get back up, fast.

The cool refreshing water trickling down the back of his throat from the water bottle. He hadn’t even realized just how much fluid had been lost, how drained he already felt.

Unfamiliar names and words forming on his tongue, growing more comfortable, coming quicker in each new situation.

-Here? This is what you need to see?

- **Here is what we need to see.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter isn't going to make much sense. But please stick with me: I promise all will be revealed in due time.


	2. Before

After so many years, the guys had grown to know his gift well.

Sadly.

“No. Oikawa, come on, we all have to stay. Can’t let you go early”, Irihata shook his head, and Oikawa sighed. The coach waved one finger at him.

“And do not try _that_ on with me either”, he added, at Oikawa’s sudden, charming smile.

Hanamaki clapped his shoulder as he meandered past. “Yeah, we haven’t all seen each other that much since Fall. Come on, Oikawa, you wanna get away from us already?”

“Away from _you_ , maybe”, Oikawa shot back, and this time there was none of that forced charisma in his grin. “A month wasn’t long enough.”

Of course, that was a lie: A month of conditioning solo, under strict conditions, sucked. He would much rather be here, with the others.

Hanamaki flipped him off from several feet away, then hurriedly dropped his hand as Irihata glared at him; a glare that said _not in front of the new guys_.

Of which, Oikawa notcied, there were plenty.

His gaze raked over the players jogging in circuits, a few courts down so as not to disturb the professionals’ practice. They all seemed impossibly small. Had that really been him, three years ago?

Matsukawa wandered over. “What do you think? Anyone stand out?”

Oikawa shrugged. “We haven’t even seen them play yet.” He had learned first-hand that they shouldn’t always judge a player by their initial appearance.

“Hey, I heard you wanted to get out of practice dead on for free time”, Matsukawa nudged him and smiled as he spoke. “You know there’s no way that’s happening with the prospects here, right? This is going to drag.”

“I just wanted to watch this new movie that was supposed to be on. If we run over we’ll miss the start”, he grumbled. “And Iwa-chan promised he would watch it with me.”

Matsukawa snorted. “Another sci-fi movie?”

“Shut up.”

Oikawa looked over to where Iwaizumi was practicing spiking. It was hard to imagine that the same short boy that he had played with as a child had become so powerful- although still short, as Oikawa liked to remind him- slamming the balls against the court, right on target, time and time again, even when Yahaba’s tosses were slightly off. The young setter hadn’t quite adjusted to the team completely yet.

Almost as if he felt Oikawa’s gaze, Iwaizumi stopped in what he was doing and turned.

“You two! Stop slacking!”

Oikawa and Matsukawa moved forward slowly, making a show of stretching their arms out. He and Matsun didn’t always get along well, but at times like this he remembered why they were friends.

Under his breath, so low that he could barely hear it; Matsun muttered; “I’ll feel a lot better about this when things are back to normal.”

Oikawa could understand that. The new season always set everyone’s nerves jumping. He looked at all of the guards, some standing on the gallery overlooking the practice area, a few others dotted around by the entrance. There were so many more than they usually had for practice games. Oikawa was grateful sometimes that their controls weren’t as strict as in some of the other sports leagues; he knew that some guys were pretty much shepherded around. They had a lot of freedom here, really. If volleyball was more popular worldwide that would likely be different. He felt bad for the guys on some of the soccer teams. Apparently they were watched almost constantly.

As he moved past Iwaizumi, Oikawa spotted a nasty red mark on his arm. “How did you do that?”

Iwaizumi shrugged him off. “I’m just blocking it for now; it was an accident. I didn’t see Kyoutani spiking and I walked right into it.”

Oikawa frowned. “Well, it had better not come back when we’re watching the movie.”

He thought back to all the nights when he and Iwaizumi would be watching a game in one of their rooms, or eating dinner with the others, and he would hiss all of a sudden and seem to shrink in on himself, doubling in pain, his ability to hold back the hurt waning after a couple of hours.

“I’ll sort it out as soon as practice is finished.” Iwaizumi’s voice dropped to a murmur, turning his head so that Oikawa could only see half of his face. “The pain should have lessened by then, anyway. Just a bruise.”

Oikawa looked at him doubtfully, but his friend refused to meet his gaze.

Before he could make any further protests, a screech had Oikawa pivoting to find its source.

Matsukawa was chuckling as Yahaba dodged a ball lobbed at his head. The younger setter cringed, holding his hands above him just in case, and then raced after the ball, returning with it in his hands and bouncing it off Matsun’s shoulder.

Oikawa chuckled at the shocked looks being sent in their direction from over where the newbies were still running laps. All identical, not used to seeing professional athletes, nearly always presented on TV as proper and serious, messing around.

Any previous concerns forgotten, Oikawa and Iwaizumi journeyed over to their friends.

“Yahaba”, Matsun was wheedling, “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t accept. You hurt me, you wounded me.”

“Oh, Yahaba, I love you like my own baby brother. Please forgive me.” Matsukawa clasped a hand over his heart as he spoke, putting a faux-dramatic tone into his voice that had the others snickering.

Yahaba turned his face away. “Never. You have tainted our friendship. I will never recover from this.”

“We can fix this, kid, you and me.”

Hanamaki dropped to his knees beside the pouting setter. “Oh, won’t you forgive him?”

“The damage has been done”, said Yahaba. He peered back around from the corner of his eye. “Oikawa, tell him off.”

Oikawa simply huffed in amusement and ruffled Yahaba’s hair, and Yahaba pushed him away.

“He’s not going to be the baby anymore”, Iwaizumi said, stretching lazily as he leaned back against the wall nearby. Practice seemed to have been forgotten: Even Irihata was distracted, eyeing the prospects from the edge of the court.

Oikawa nudged Yahaba and pointed to their potential rookies. “That was you a year ago, remember?”

“And me”, Watari said as he jogged over to join them. He tipped his head. “It’s strange, it doesn’t feel like it’s been a year.”

“Yeah, it feels longer.” Yahaba jabbed Matsukawa once more before again chasing after the ball he had lobbed.

Laughter rippled through the group, only to be abruptly cut off by the sound of heavy footsteps and a scream.

One of the prospects was on his knees, surrounded by guards. The team watched in silence as he was dragged away, still screaming. He was forced through the doors, and when they closed behind him his yells became muffled and distant.

Silence hung for a moment longer, and then the prospects continued jogging.

Hanamaki whistled, long and low. “Looks like someone didn’t reveal his real powers.” He spoke casually, but there was a frown on his face.

“Well, that’s what you get for lying to Central”, Yahaba muttered.

“Yeah.” Oikawa clapped his hands. “Alright, everybody, back to practice.”

The congregation dispersed.

- **This is irrelevant.**

-So why are you looking at it?

- **You chose to look at it. These are still your memories. This one is very heavy.**

-Heavy?

- **Opaque. Important. It made an impact on you.**

*

It was the first time that week Oikawa had counted less than twenty guards, he thought as he stood in the gallery with the others during their break. It had been his idea to come and watch the prospects continuing with their try-outs, and the entire rest of the team had agreed to join him, despite some clear apprehensive expressions.

He didn’t blame them. It was always a stressful time; never knowing if you would make it, if you would be replaced, sent away. He eyed the guards suspiciously, all in their matching silvery-blue uniforms with their guns. Had there been so many this time last year? Perhaps some of the key documents the prospects had presented hadn’t seemed quite accurate, and so they were around to ensure that they were safe and not keeping their true abilities hidden. It had happened in the past- take that poor soul from two days ago- and some hadn’t been found out for a long time: Oikawa still recalled the veteran Jozhenji player who had freaked out in the middle of a match and been taken down. Central clearly did not want a repeat of that.

Iwaizumi leaned over to him, pressing their arms together and briefly jolting him back to the present. “Do you remember when that was us?”

Oikawa did.

He thought back, to two boys born and raised about as far from Central as you could get. They had both wanted to escape, to help their families escape, the quiet impoverished town of their youths, and had pushed each other along every step of the way. It was part of the story that sold them to Central, really, their years of friendship off the court which bled into their partnership on it. Taking the train in, walking through those doors for the first time, it had seemed magical, like everything they had been fighting for had been worth it.

Were they feeling like that, too, these children? They were so small down there, and lanky, no real strength to boast of.

A wave of sadness washed over Oikawa as he stared out at them. They were all desperate to make the team, and for good reason, but some of them would not, even after having tried so hard, when they could have put their energy into something else.

He reasoned that they must not really have tried hard enough, the ones who didn’t make it. Natural ability or not, anyone who did not have the resolve to work hard was destined to fall.

And he might even feel worse for those who did make it: Rarely ever seeing their families, in the dorms, on the road. Oikawa missed his mother, sometimes. The feeling of homesickness never really went away completely, it just got worse when he thought about her. It had been especially bad last year, thinking of his sister and new nephew.

Iwaizumi’s arm pressed against his own more firmly, as though he knew what Oikawa was thinking, and he shook it off. He had his best friend here with him, and that almost made it feel like home. They got to be stars here, the kind of stars they had dreamed of being.

He pressed back, and then leaned over to Hanamaki, on his other side. “What do you want to bet one of them has elemental abilities?”

Generally it was considered rude to enquire into the nature of another’s powers, unless it was something incredibly obvious. Certain celebrities even went out of their way to keep theirs' secret, enjoying the mystery and debate that it sparked. Oikawa and his friends often entertained themselves by speculating about those they encountered.

Hanamaki eyed the group for a moment, considering. “Nah. I think we’re going to get some more charisma on the team. We seem to attract that type, for some reason.”

Oikawa laughed. That was true. Himself, Yahaba, Hanamaki…

Makki’s gift was kind of similar to Oikawa’s; only, instead of generating positive emotions, he was skilled at breaking down negative emotions. Any anger directed his way quickly evaporated like clouds, until the bearer of the feelings couldn’t recall what had upset them in the first place. It was a particularly useful skill for a guy like him, Oikawa had always thought, ever since he had worked it out a few weeks into knowing Hanamaki and finding that he couldn’t stay mad at his new teammate’s pranks and jibes for more than a minute.

Oikawa wasn’t sure whether it was Hanamaki’s skill that made his personality easier to bear, or whether his cheeky personality had grown up around his skill. There were big debates about it among psychologists. Were individuals more likely to be charismatic if they had a charisma gift, or were they more likely to have a charisma gift if they were charismatic? Oikawa was never sure what that necessarily said about people with, for instance, powers pertaining to setting things on fire.

From Hanamaki’s other side, Matsukawa leaned forward on the railings to ask: “Don’t you think there are more guards than usual?”

“Hm. There must think there’s someone powerful here”, Iwaizumi replied.

Oikawa looked at him: His eyes were sharp, a concentrated look on his face as he took in the training below them. He should probably be paying more attention, too, since Irihata would inevitably ask him and Iwaizumi later what they thought.

Lacing his hands together over the railings, Oikawa sighed. “More likely someone they’re not sure about, and they’re watching to see if they snap.” He leaned further forward, looking past Iwaizumi at the rest of the team. “Oh no, Watari, they know your secret. They’re going to take you away.”

The past year, it had been a running joke that Watari had kept his gift a secret, despite Oikawa’s snooping. Yahaba claimed to be the only one who knew, but then he also claimed that Kyoutani- another one who kept his power to himself- had a gift relating to plants, and Oikawa had a feeling he may have been joking about that last one. He could never tell when Yahaba was joking, which was, of course, his power; lying. He could convince people that his words were true; it only worked until they figured it out, however. After the realization you could always tell when he was trying to use it.

It had taken Oikawa nearly three months to discover that one. He often prided himself on finding his friends’ abilities as quickly as possible. And he still had another year to work out Watati and Kyoutani’s before they overtook Matsun for the longest time having kept it a secret from him.

What a disappointment, that had been. After two full years of secrecy over what had amounted to nothing interesting, Matsukawa had finally revealed the truth.

As it turned out, his gift was incredibly useless; he had one of those odd ones, usually grouped under ‘Other’ on the tickbox lists you fill out at doctor’s appointments and events. Months after finally cracked and begged to know; months of Hanamaki’s merciless taunting that it wasn’t that interesting, really; months of Iwaizumi telling Matsun to just tell them, already, before Oikawa spontaneously combusted, he finally revealed that he was really good at mimicking bird calls. But only the calls of birds indigenous to a particular island in the Mediterranean. Or so he claimed.

“I mean, I’ve never been, but this one birdwatcher guy told me that. Followed me around the park for about an hour trying to find this rare-crested-whatever he was hearing. Was really excited too, thinking he’d made the discovery of the century in the middle of Central”, he explained with a shrug.

All Oikawa could think to ask was why Matsukawa had been making bird noises in Central for an hour.

“Pay attention.” Iwaizumi nudged him, and Oikawa turned his focus back to the prospects.

-Why am I reliving this?

**-You don’t remember?**

-No. I remember nothing. Nothing related to this.

*

The restaurant chimed with laughter, and much of that belonged to the Aoba Johsai players. Oikawa did his best to ignore it. They were just jealous, after all, of all the people who wanted to take photos with him. He turned on the charms easily for each one of them, laughing when they wanted him to laugh and smiling vacantly when they wanted silence.

“Have a lovely evening, ladies”, he called at the latest group as they departed from behind his chair. He caught one of the girls’ eyes and winked, and she giggled. They were all dressed alike, in fancy furs and velvets, as were most of the other patrons inside, Oikawa and his friends included. Only the elite of their world had the privilege of eating out at their own discretion.

Oikawa raised an arm to wave when a hand gripped it firmly and roughly yanked him back into his seat. Turning, he was confronted with the irate face of his best friend.

“Iwa-chan! Ow!”

Ignoring his protests, Iwaizumi hissed; “Tone it down.”

Oikawa blinked at him in confusion. “But they love it.”

“I think you love it”, Iwaizumi grumbled. He dropped his voice. “It’s like… some kind of fallback when you have nothing else to say or do.”

Where the hell had that come from?

Yanking his arm away, Oikawa asked; “What are you even talking about?”

Iwaizumi turned away.

Before Oikawa could ask any further questions, Hanamaki leaned across the table and asked; “Hey, guys, are you alright?” The smile he flashed their way was bright but, as Oikawa met his gaze, his eyes darted away, first down the table to the rookies and then around the exquisite dining area.

Iwaizumi sighed and immediately straightened up in his seat, face settling into an infuriatingly blank expression.

Still seething, Oikawa lifted his glass of wine to his lips. Fine, he thought. Two could play that game.

Letting his eyes drift in the same direction Hanamaki’s had done, he fixed Kindaichi and Kunimi with a soft smile.

“So, rookies, how are you finding it?”

Kindaichi blushed slightly. Oh, Oikawa could already tell he was going to be fun to tease, the poor boy. “Okay, thank you.”

“Alright.” Kunimi shrugged.

Oikawa’s smile grew, of its own accord this time. The two new guys were so incredibly different, and yet both fairly easy to read. Or it could have been that he had become a better judge of character over the past couple of years, he supposed.

Kindaichi was nervous and shy and looked up to Iwaizumi, who had taken the newbie under his wing, although in a different way than he had tried to mentor Kyoutani. Rather than the motivating challenges and trials he had set for Kyoutani, Iwaizumi often went over the theory of their games with Kindaichi, pulling him aside to ask him why he thought certain strategies were working against certain teams, or why others didn’t. It was sweet, the way Kindaichi eagerly tried to answer him and bombarded Iwaizumi with his own questions.

Kunimi was one of the lucky professional players who actually came from Central, like Yahaba. However, he wasn’t much like the other players Oikawa knew from Central, not even like Yahaba had been when he first joined the team. Kunimi was somewhat lazy, but his quick wit shone through at seemingly random moments, and he didn’t care much for status, or for keeping his relatively mundane powers hidden. Oikawa liked him, partly because he got to rub it in Hanamaki’s face that they now had a teammate with elemental powers as he had hypothesized.

Said elemental powers were very minor. Kunimi’s were, Oikawa thought appropriately enough, related to water and ice. He could manipulate water, yet nowhere near to the extent of certain others that Oikawa had seen on TV. Somewhere out there were people who could create tidal waves or part rivers. Kunimi could just about manage a small whirlpool in the sink. And asking him to actually make any water droplet float or fly was beyond him. He could also freeze and heat water, but again only minuscule amounts. It was something Oikawa only truly appreciated on the odd days when he let his coffee go cold and Kunimi kindly offered to heat it up for him.

“Don’t take Oikawa’s flirting for actual concern”, Matsukawa told the two of them, raising one hand to his mouth to mime a whisper.

“F- flirting?” Kindaichi flushed even harder than he already had.

“It’s what we call his gift.” Iwaizumi spoke bluntly. “Or, Matsukawa and Hanamaki call it that.”

“It’s not flirting, it’s charisma.” Oikawa winked at the kids, really laying on the charms.

Yahaba said; “I have a charisma talent, too!”

“We know.” Matsun looked at Kyoutani and Watari, sitting across from each other. “It’s these two who won’t tell.”

Kyoutani grunted. He was the only one not drinking wine, sticking to water. Someone could have mistaken that for being the reason that he was the quietest member of their table, but Oikawa knew that Kyoutani only had something to say to them when it was a complaint or a challenge. Trying out his gift on Kyoutani when he was new had been fun, and he idly wondered whether Kindaichi or Kunimi might behave in a similar manner, going bright red and denying that they were affected.

“That’s right.” Watari grinned and raised his drink to his lips. He had always been one to take the fun in his stride.

“Alright”, Oikawa sing-songed, “so we know Kunimi’s. Kindaichi, care to share?”

Oikawa had been wrong: Kindaichi’s face could go a brighter shade of red. He hurriedly gulped down the rest of his wine.

“Oho?” Hanamaki’s thin eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. “Is it something interesting?”

Matsukawa leaned forward. “Let’s hear it.”

“It’s kind of awkward…”

“Those are the best ones”, cackled Oikawa.

“Oikawa”, Iwaizumi said.

“Aw, come on”, said Watari, “if he doesn’t want to tell us, leave him.”

“No, it’s okay, I’ll tell you”, Kindaichi mumbled.

Yahaba drained his own glass. “Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

He reached for the bottle of wine in the center of the table, filling first his own cup and then Kindaichi’s. As he did so, Kindaichi spoke.

“It’s just people tend to laugh when I tell them. Laugh or… Er…” He made a face. “They want to try it.”

“Can I try it?” Oikawa grinned, focusing on Kindaichi, and Kindaichi’s whole body stiffened and froze. Yes, he was going to be as fun as Kyoutani.

Iwaizumi elbowed him. “You don’t know what it is yet.”

“I’m sure it’s fun.”

“Kindaichi?”, Hanamaki asked.

“When I first came here”, Kindaichi began slowly, “I didn’t even really get how it worked, but they interviewed me a lot because they said it was something that could be used to an unfair advantage in a game, and they told me a lot about it.” Who ‘they’ were went unsaid. “Apparently it doesn’t even fall into the charisma category, because I don’t have to say anything, I just look at them and…”

Matsun sighed. “Spit it out.”

“You won’t laugh?”

“I make no promises”, Oikawa said, but he increased his influence slightly, this time trying to ease Kindaichi’s discomfort.

“We won’t laugh.” Iwaizumi glared at Oikawa, and Oikawa shot him a wide-eyed look back.

Kindaichi stared around at the table for a moment, taking in everyone’s nods, before apparently deciding they were genuine. He took a deep breath and said; “I can make people think that they’re being restrained.”

For a moment, Oikawa didn’t understand.

“As in, they think they’re handcuffed, or their legs are bound together, that sort of thing. Only it’s easy to snap out of it. If I try it on someone who’s more resistant to it, it might only last for a few seconds. My friends used to get me to use it to prank people, and it really shocked them.”

Oikawa bit his tongue to keep from laughing, and he locked eyes with Hanamaki, who seemed to be struggling with a similar issue. He pictured what would happen if he did- Kindaichi’s disappointment, Iwaizumi’s anger- and tried hard to keep it in.

‘It lasts longer if someone is… Erm… Not resistant to it’, Kindaichi explained, his whole face and neck scarlet, and now Oikawa didn’t bother to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

The whole table exploded. Oikawa threw a look at Iwaizumi where he was chuckling behind his hand- the hypocrite- intending to call him out on his behavior, but when their eyes met it set them both off in peals of laughter.

“I’m sorry, Kindaichi”, Iwaizumi gasped out between guffaws.

“It’s fine”, Kindaichi whispered, and after a moment he too began to giggle.

Once they had settled down somewhat, Yahaba said; “I actually kind of want to try it.”

Kunimi shrugged as he took a drink from his glass. “Eh. It’s not that fun.”

Kyoutani looked like he had been slapped. Kindaichi hid his face. Oikawa couldn’t breathe, he was laughing so hard. He was sure the others in the restaurant would be staring at them, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“You have an ugly laugh”, Iwaizumi said, and Oikawa looked at him. His face was stern again, although his eyes were still wet; a tell that Oikawa had learned over the years. Iwaizumi’s eyes always started to swim with tears when he was laughing, really laughing, over something. “Stop it, we’re in public. You’ll ruin your reputation.”

“You were laughing too.”

Iwaizumi’s lips twitched and he turned away with a sigh.

Oikawa turned back to the others. “See? Even the rookies will tell us.” He fixated on Kyoutani and Watari.

“Mad Dog, stay strong”, Watari joked.

Kyoutani actually gave a small smile; the first time he had ever reacted positively to that nickname. Oikawa was stunned.

“Yeah, try and break Matsun’s record”, Hanamaki chimed in.

Matsukawa smiled and swirled one finger about the rim of his glass. “As much as I would hate to see my record broken, it would be worth it to annoy Oikawa. Did you know he begged me to tell him? On multiple occasions.”

“Even with his ‘flirtation’, he’s not going to get it out of me.”

Oikawa huffed at them both. As the chatter and jibes continued around him, he thought it over for a long time, staring at his reflection in his wine, a deep crimson canvas cut with the pale claws of his features.

Watari never wanted to reveal his gift. It wasn’t something obvious, or powerful, so it had to be fairly mundane. Not a charisma gift. He had been immune to Oikawa’s joking questions, always remaining steadfast in his refusal to divulge his secrets.

Finally, he looked up at Watari from under low eyelids, flushed with the feeling of victory at having worked it out, as well as the wine. “I know your secret.”

The table fell silent.

Watari didn’t seem particularly flustered. He simply laced his hands together, stared back, and asked; “So, what is it?”

“You can block out other people’s powers.”

The libero laughed and laughed.

“Really? Oikawa, just because I know what you’re like doesn’t mean I have some power against you… You’re just too easy to read sometimes.”

“Read? Oh, so you’re a mind reader?”

“Those aren’t real.”

“They are. There was an old lady in my town who could always tell what we were thinking.”

“I’m sure she couldn’t exactly tell. She was probably just an empath.” He snorted. “Or maybe you and Iwaizumi were just really gullible kids.”

Oikawa allowed his head to droop as laughter echoed around him- and he vaguely heard Iwaizumi making some comment about how Oikawa might have fallen for it, but he never did- then he turned back to Watari in defeat. ‘I really didn’t get it right?’

‘No.’

**-And then your sister-**

-My sister-

*

“You didn’t mention me or mom at all.”

“Ah, sorry”, Oikawa said, but he couldn’t help continuing; “I’ll be sure to tell them, next time, how I owe my entire success to you.”

“You’d better”, his sister replied. She sighed and stretched her legs out on the other chair Oikawa had stolen from Iwaizumi’s room, so they could sit and watch TV together in his room when she was visiting. Their time was nearly up: There had been hugging and catching up on news for the first few hours, but by the fourth hour she had insisted on putting on the TV to watch Oikawa’s interview after their last win.

Oikawa stared as the interviewer wrapped up the segment and then he- the him on the screen- walked away, back towards the locker room. Advertisements began to play: Power suppressants, advertisements for various sports leagues and new movies.

He watched as she turned up the volume, and then leaned forward and gripped his arm, speaking low.

“So? What’s it really like?”

“What?”

“You know.” Her eyes widened. “If it’s like what they say; living in the dorms, under constant guard.”

“Ah.” Oikawa shuffled and rubbed the back of his head. “It’s not constant guard. No more than anyone else outside Central.”

She narrowed her eyes, almost like she didn't believe him. He had almost forgotten; the last time she had come to visit had been his first year, and then she had been so excited and enthusiastic about his new position. In the years since it had been their mother who made the trip to the training facility on the outskirts of Central with stories of those at home.

The familiar tone announcing the news came back on the TV, and they fell silent.

A man was being led away in handcuffs. Oikawa listened as a monotone voice announced that the man had been arrested for using his powers- he was an elemental- to murder his family, setting his own house ablaze.

His eyes were sunk deep in his face: Not wild, or mad, just tired.

“How sad”, his sister murmured.

He nodded in agreement. “They vet us carefully, for things like this.”

“To make sure your powers are safe.”

“To make sure we don’t lose control.” Oikawa sighed and leaned back, determined to end their annual visit on a light-hearted note. “It’s really not so bad, being watched.”

She didn’t look like she believed him, watching him uncertainly.

‘Besides’, he smiled at her, and saw his own bright grin slowly begin to reflect back at him on her face, ‘they don’t see everything.’

- **What did you mean by that?**

-I don’t know.

*

They really shouldn’t be here, Oikawa knew. It was written in Kindaichi’s jittering hands and Hanamaki’s non-stop joking and Iwaizumi’s surreptitious glances over his shoulder. Oikawa did his best to be relaxed, to keep the good vibes of the night going.

Watari, Yahaba, and Kyoutani had all vanished, a while ago. Oikawa had spotted them now and again across the dance floor, so he wasn’t too concerned about any of them.

“We should get going, soon”, Iwaizumi decided. Oikawa was perhaps the only one who would realize how nervous he was, shifting from foot to foot in spite of his sure expression. “Nobody can know we’re here.”

Oikawa slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Relax. Let me finish my drink, at least." He laughed. “Besides, we’re in a better position than any of these other poor souls.”

He gestured about. Poor souls might have been overstating it a bit. This was still Central, not one of the seedy bars he and Iwaizumi might have snuck into back home. The clientele were largely members of the upper class seeking to rebel without actually rebelling, at a joint away from the eyes of those in charge. Oikawa wouldn’t even be surprised if those in charge weren’t fully aware of this place and were observing them anyway, ensuring they had their fun without stepping too far out of line.

What he had said was true, in a way, though; they were less likely to get in trouble than anyone else here. They, the ones shown on TV.

A low groan ripped free of Kindaichi. He slumped forward against the bar, resting his head in his hands. Oikawa frowned: He should be more careful. He could have taken someone’s eye out with that spiked hairdo of his.

“Kindaichi?”, asked Iwaizumi.

Matsukawa poked him in the side and he jumped.

Oikawa, suddenly concerned, repeated, softer; “Kindaichi?”

Kindaichi kept his head low for a moment, so only the crown of his head was visible. Then he raised his face up and whispered; “I’m going to be sent home. They’re going to find me here and they’re going to send me home.”

“Nobody’s going to get sent home.” Oikawa laughed again, and he leaned towards Kindaichi, turning up his smile, attempting to radiate as much calm as possible. “Look, some other teams have made a few trades lately, but not us. You know why?”

“Why?”, Kindaichi breathed more than asked, his mouth and eyes round.

“We have a good team. Our core is strong, and we get along well.”

He knew it could always happen, of course: Even he himself could be traded, totally out of the blue. But Oikawa was aware that management knew how much money he brought in, and that he was the glue of the team. He could calm them down and fire them up, and he was privately sure that his gift was only a small part of that. Although, the gift did play a larger role than many of his teammates seemed to realize, albeit in a different way than intended: Most of the time when he flashed his charisma at them, he wasn’t trying to hide it. He wanted them to notice, to call him out, to make them laugh. There were still moments when he subtly weaved it among them without their notice, but the ridicule and the laughter were what really united them. And, when they lost, a lot of the time it meant he had failed in bringing them together, that he hadn’t done enough.

He had really thought, with this team, with this chemistry, that this would be the year.

Oikawa glanced around. Now not only Kindaichi was watching him; the rest of the group, loosely gathered, were too.

He continued; “We’re all in here together. Whatever happens, you’re with me, okay? Promise.” He caught Iwaizumi frowning at him, his face etched in hard lines, but he tried to ignore the disapproving gaze to focus on smiling at Kindaichi. He was well aware that he shouldn’t make such a promise, especially to a rookie, when there’s never any guarantee that you won’t be ripped away from the ones you go close to. But Kindaichi was so frightened.

“Okay.” Kindaichi nodded hurriedly. “Okay. But… Can we leave soon?”

“Yes. I’ll just finish my drink.” Oikawa punctuated his sentence with a sip, only to make a revolted face. “It’s warm.”

Wordlessly, Kunimi reached over to take his glass, and then almost immediately passed it back.

“Works best when I’m touching it”, he grunted as an explanation at the others’ wordless questions.

Oikawa blinked. “Thank you.” He took another mouthful. It was cold. The refreshing liquid flooded through his throat and into his whole body.

Kunimi shrugged. He looked the most at home here. Oikawa realized that it was entirely possible Kunimi had been here before; this was near his home, after all.

Watari bounded back over from the dance floor, coming to a halt beside Hanamaki to lean against the bar. He was covered in sweat, almost as much as at the end of a game. The sunglasses and crop top he wore - something nobody would ever recognize him in from everyday life- were shimmering under the fluorescent lights.

Taking a gulp from Hanamaki’s beer bottle, he asked; “Did someone say we’re leaving?”

“In a minute.” Hanamaki flicked Watari’s sunglasses, knocking them halfway up his head, and Watari squawked a protest. “Sorry to rain on your parade, party boy. Where are Yahaba and Kyoutani?”

“I dunno. Kyoutani went to the bathroom. I thought Yahaba was coming back here.”

“Haven’t seen him”, said Iwaizumi.

“Oh. He must still be dancing, then.” Watari shrugged.

Oikawa knocked back the last of his drink. “I’ll go find them.”

Almost as soon as Oikawa pushed away from the bar, so did Iwaizumi, beginning to shepherd the others away.

“Come on, time to go.”

“Let me just finish my drink at least, before Watari steals the rest.”

“I think Iwaizumi is right, we should probably go.”

“Kindaichi, calm down or I’ll freeze your blood.”

“You can do that?”

“Everybody, stop it, you have three seconds to finish your drinks.”

Oikawa listened to the cacophony with a small smile, and one by one his friends began to file out towards the exit.

“We’ll grab everyone’s coats”, Iwaizumi muttered in a low voice as Oikawa passed, “and we’ll meet you outside.”

Oikawa clapped his shoulder with one hand to show he had heard, and then he began to move across the dancefloor.

Colors pulsated and skipped across the bodies of those around him, and the smell of sweat and alcohol was overbearing. He almost got caught up in a small throng dancing and spotted a woman among them giving him an appreciative look. He smiled at her but kept going. The others would be waiting.

No sign of Yahaba or Kyoutani.

He stood frozen on the dancefloor for a moment, scanning around himself and attempting to peer into all the small nooks and crannies ranging about the room, where the walls were cut back slightly in little archways of exposed brickwork. There were several bodies he could barely make out, people making light conversation or watching the dancers from them, but he was fairly certain none of them were Yahaba or Kyoutani.

Next, he checked the bathroom, fighting his way across to the heavy door and pushing inside with his shoulder to avoid touching the handle. It was blindingly bright, and he blinked against the garish hue of the green light.

A man stood at the urinals, but it wasn’t either of his friends. The stall doors stood open, cubicles gazing vacantly back at him.

They could have already left, gone outside to wait for them, he reasoned, fighting his rising panic. They could have. Kyoutani had made no secret of his distaste for the place before Hanamaki and Matsukawa had goaded him into doing shots with them both and Watari. Maybe the alcohol had just worn off and he had dragged Yahaba away. They could both be outside with Iwaizumi now.

Oikawa backed out of the bathroom. This time he wandered around the edge of the dancefloor, passing by the shadowed corners and peering into them.

He paused when he spotted something that looked slightly out of place in the semi-rundown building.

A fire escape. Not an old fashioned clunky wooden one, but one of the modern automatic ones that you had to press to open manually.

Shapes moved under the door, and low voices drifted through. Familiar voices.

A sound which was halfway between a growl and a chuckle, and then a laugh.

Oikawa pressed his palm to the doorframe. It slid open and he found-

**-What did you find?**

Flashing images. Bodies moving on the dance floor, writhing together in time to the pounding of the music.

**-What was it you saw?**

-Nothing. Kyourani and Yahaba were there. I told them to go home and we left.

More flickers. Hands clasping together and suddenly springing apart. Wide eyes, frozen in fear.

**-You cannot keep the truth from us.**

-That is the truth.

*

The ride to the hospital was tense.

Oikawa found himself unable to look Yahaba or Kyoutani in the face.

Especially not Yahaba. Not right now. His protégé was sitting with his face in his hands, slumped forward in the seat. Kyoutani sat across from him, beside Iwaizumi, staring straight ahead blankly while the four of them rode the shuttle.

Oikawa’s eyes flickered across to Iwaizumi, instead. He was wearing the carefully sculpted neutral face he tended to stick to in situations where he didn’t want anybody to see how upset he was, only there was a crease between his eyebrows that betrayed his misery. He had looked so angry at the reporters who had crowded them, asking them questions about last night’s game and the injury, but his comparative peace now was a falsehood.

They both knew how it would appear on the news: He and Iwaizumi, the inseparable due, going together to visit their fallen teammate, when in reality they had separately made the decision to undertake this journey. In a way that assumption was what their career has been based on, the fact that they worked so well together. There were moments when Oikawa resented it. Resented what the media have made it into, that was, not Iwaizumi.

He could never resent Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi was his only family, now, the only one from home. Their eyes met and they silently exchanged words of comfort:

It will be okay.

He’ll be fine.

Kyoutani’s voice broke their concentration, and Oikawa found him still staring straight ahead even as he spoke. His voice was robotic, and his hands were gripping the seat on either side of his legs. Yahaba was looking up as well now, watching.

“I can make living things grow well.” Kyoutani swallowed. “That’s what I can do. It’s so dumb. I don’t even get it myself. But I can help animals heal quickly. Plants, too.” His pupils shifted for the first time, across to Oikawa and then to Yahaba, and he blinked several times in rapid succession. “It doesn’t work on people, though.”

With that, he turned away from them, crossing his arms and tucking his legs up underneath him.

Yahaba opened his mouth like he wanted to say something and then closed it again.

They were silent for the rest of the short trip.

When they arrived, Oikawa was pleased to be greeted by a lack of journalists and guards and instead a rather sympathetic looking nurse, who ushered them to one side.

“I will take you to your friend in a moment. But first, I want you to understand that he is not going to recover overnight. This will be a tough journey.”

“He’s going to be okay, though?”, Iwaizumi asked, and the nurse’s face twisted.

“He will walk and talk”, she answered slowly. “But he may not play again. We’re taking things one step at a time. He’s a healthy young man, so we are remaining optimistic.”

“Will he… Know us? You know, will he remember? Is he…” Yahaba struggled for words. “…disorientated?”

“No. He will know you’re here, and who you are. He’s very much in control of himself. But, at the moment, he’s not in a good way, and it may not be pleasant for you to see.”

Oikawa felt his stomach turn, but at the same time he was consoled. This nurse seemed honest, not lying to spare their feelings, which was a relief. If she seemed to think he would recover, Oikawa believed her.

They followed her across the main entrance to a large elevator, and then down a long corridor to a private room. There was a bench opposite the door, which was surrounded by plants. Oikawa couldn’t tell without touching them whether they were real or plastic.

“Two at a time”, she announced, looking over them.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa looked at each other, and then Iwaizumi turned to Yahaba and Kyoutani.

“You two go first. You’re closer to him.”

When they vanished inside, Iwaizumi took a seat, but Oikawa remained to hover by the nurse. The corridor they were in was deserted, with only a few doors along one wall, and it was light and airy where the other wall had several large windows. Oikawa peered out of one of them: They were several floors up, but if he looked right down they were facing out over a small courtyard.

Murmuring came from inside the room, but he couldn’t quite make out the words.

When Yahaba came back out several minutes later, he was crying. He looked at Oikawa and managed a small smile before he walked several meters down the corridor, rubbing at his eyes, with an ashen-faced Kyoutani following.

Oikawa glanced down at Iwaizumi, who was staring down at his hands, linked together at the knuckle and balanced on his knees. Slowly, he got to his feet, and the two of them went into the room.

Watari was sitting up in the bed, his head bandaged, and tubes connected to his hands. His eyes were also red and puffy, but he smiled when he saw them.

“Watari”, Iwaizumi said, because Oikawa had suddenly lost the ability to talk. “We’re so glad you’re okay. We were worried about you.”

Watari nodded.

“How are you feeling?”

Watari smiled and shrugged, then opened his mouth and closed it again.

Oikawa froze. The nurse, earlier. His words had almost gone completely over his head, forgotten. She had said that Watari _would_ recover, that he _would_ walk. Walk and…

“He can’t talk”, another nurse, standing to one side of the room, said. She looked younger yet somehow less sympathetic than the one outside, giving Oikawa a sugary smile. “He can understand, and respond, but he can’t talk. It’s all to do with the hit to the head. Hopefully, over time his speech will return, but it could be tonight, it could be tomorrow, it might not be for weeks. Writing is also a no-go.” She shrugged. “He tried but got a little frustrated with himself when he couldn’t.” Her smile turned towards Watari

Oikawa nodded and swallowed, attempting to process that information.

Watari was frowning a little, blinking hard as he looked down at his hands resting on top of his covers, so Oikawa moved forward to his side. “Watari. I’m so sorry.”

He took his friend’s hand.

Iwaizumi began to speak again, telling Watari about the rest of the game, how they had struggled on after his nasty collision, and Oikawa focused on Watari’s face and the warmth of his hand. He couldn’t summon any kind of feeling now, nothing strong enough to be of use. He reminded himself that it could be worse; yet this already felt so much worse than he had expected. Tears pricked at his vision as Iwaizumi finished talking.

“We’ll be back to visit again this week”, Iwaizumi said quietly. “We’ll bring Makki and Matsun to cheer you up.”

Watari made a noise that sounded like an attempt at laughter, and Oikawa broke. He gave a sob.

Iwaizumi touched his shoulder. “Go outside with Yahaba and Kyoutani.”

Oikawa shook his head. “I’m fine.” He was, he was, he was. “Watari, I’m so sorry.”

Watari shook his own, his eyes spilling with tears again, and Oikawa realized he wasn’t fine.

“I’ll go make sure Yahaba is okay”, he whispered. “But I’ll come back before we have to go, to say goodbye. And we’ll be back again like Iwaizumi said.”

He went to move away, but Watari gripped his hand tight.

Oikawa looked back at him. Watari’s mouth was moving, trying to form words. He was staring at Oikawa so urgently that Oikawa turned back around, leaned in.

Watari’s mouth kept moving, but nothing came out. His face twisted, in frustration and fear and rage and pain.

It occurred to Oikawa that he might be trying to apologize. He definitely seemed determined, as though there was something he needed to tell his captain.

“Watari, it’s okay.”

Watari merely shook his head, jaw working and eyes swimming. He strained his mouth, again and again.

This was clearly important to him. Oikawa leaned forward, as if by being closer to him the words would come into reality.

Still, the injured man’s mouth worked fruitlessly, as tears spilled down his cheeks.

And now the words came to him, whispered from a future memory; “I had to let it happen. If I didn’t-”

*

More images, flashing so quickly he can barely keep up.

Watari, back on the court again, sometime later, and Oikawa was so proud of him as he rubbed his shaved head with one hand, repeated his pride to the reporters that crowded them when they won that match.

Followed by a ball thudding to the floor, again and again. Loss after loss.

Iwaizumi slinging an arm around Kindaichi’s shoulder when he cried.

**-Please remain calm.**

Watari blaming himself, Yahaba yelling back at him that if anyone should be blamed, it was him.

Pain stretching across Oikawa’s knee as he skidded roughly to the floor, Hanamaki’s and Kunimi’s concerned faces looming over him.

**-Focus.**

Oikawa limping into a room with his friends, none of them looking at each other, and forcing himself to laugh and make provocative statements until they were all laughing at him, together.

His mind was thrown elsewhere, beyond his control: Watari, thanking him, again apologizing that things had not been going their way, and Oikawa smiling back so wide that his eyes closed and Watari

**-Watari**

wouldn’t be able to see how hollow they were, smiling back and really working his gift as he told Watari that it was fine, they would have next year.

-Is this about Watari? Did something happen? That was months ago, I thought-

**-Do you remember?**

-Remember what?! I don’t know!

Maybe he doesn’t even have a real personality anymore. No mind, no personality, no humanity. Maybe he’s just the power, all the time. The doubt begins to eat at him. Iwaizumi is a big comfort-

**-Iwaizumi?**

Dark fractured images. Things he doesn’t want to share.

-They all are.

*

A scene. A dinner table before a game. Drinks line the table, the same amount as the number of players clustered around it, and then one extra. Voices overflow and spill out across each other, bantering and laughing.

Oikawa looks up and out across the street. He’s opposite a window that takes up almost the entire front wall. Outside is a narrow two-way street, cars stopped at the set of traffic lights on the intersection where the restaurant occupies one corner.

Movement catches his eye and there’s Watari, on the other side of the road. There are others walking past, but they are faceless and don’t stop. Watari turns and raises his hand in half a salutation. Oikawa raises his own in return. The drink, the empty seat across from him- yes, they were for Watari.

The libero begins to step out into the road, and suddenly his eyes flit to the left. Staring at something just beyond Oikawa’s field of vision.

There are screams.

Everything jolts.

A scene. A dinner table before a game, the first of the year. Drinks line the table, the same amount as the number of players clustered around it, and then one extra. Voices overflow and spill out across each other, bantering and laughing.

Oikawa looks up and out across the street. He’s opposite a window that takes up almost the entire front wall. Outside is a narrow two-way street, cars stopped at the set of traffic lights on the intersection where the restaurant occupies one corner.

Movement catches his eye and there’s Watari, racing across the road. There are others walking past, and now they turn to watch him in confusion. Oikawa can’t make out their faces, but he can discern the emotions in the way their bodies twist.

He locks eyes with Watari. Something prompts him to stand up. The others at the table fall silent and look at him as he rises.

He’s halfway out of his seat when-

Everything jolts.

Darkness.

The screaming came back, several voices twisting and rising together. Then cutting out completely.

I don’t know what’s happening I don’t know **what’s happening** please please I don’t remember I don’t and there’s more screaming **who is screaming** why are they screaming what are you doing with him why is he like that let go of him

Another scene. Another table.

Watari is closer now, appearing around the corner of the restaurant. He reaches out to strike one fist against the glass and-

Everything jolts.

This time there is no Watari. Oikawa laughs, takes a sip of his wine and leans in to hear something Hanamaki has said.

Everything jolts.

Watari is far away again, on the other side of the road. He’s screaming. Oikawa can’t hear what; he’s too far, and there’s glass in between. There are two men

**-Who?**

-What are they doing?

and they’re reaching for Watari, holding him as he yells.

-What is happening? People are screaming. Why are-

Everything jolts.


	3. Chapter 3

Watari had told them his powers, when he first arrived.

He had lied.

His mother always taught him to lie. Especially just before he left for Central.

She had straightened his coat, hands trembling. “You can block out gifts. Some minor ones, mental ones, but not all”, she had said. “They won’t be able to check into that too much.”

“Yes, mom.”

And then she had looked at him, face twisting. They only had a few minutes.

“Shinji, are you sure this is what you want?”

He had stared back at her, blankly. The thrill of the game, and the security that came with being a player- of course, that was what he wanted. “It is.”

She had held him then, and her tears were so fierce they dropped onto his neck and slid in rivulets down his back.

*

It had been so difficult, not to reveal it, when he had hurt his head. But even one skip backward through time was too risky. They were being shown on TV, after all, and there were people out here whose very gifts included being able to spot things like that.

If they even caught hold of one tiny hop- well, he wouldn’t be on the team anymore. He wouldn’t be free anymore.

Time Manipulation was the official name for it, and it was classified as an A-class gift.

Most with A-class gifts became weapons or entered Central right at the top. Watari had seen it in an old movie: How the soldiers would fall down, writhing in pain, only to get back up again, do it all on repeat, falling and squirming, over and over. He knew he couldn’t make that. He couldn’t _live_ that.

And so, he had lied.

*

The reason he had been running late that day was also due to the accident he’d had, some months before. His doctor had been slightly late in calling Watari into his office, and Watari had just missed the shuttle train that would have taken him across Central to where the team was gathering for dinner by five minutes, and so he had not been present in the restaurant when the car came barreling through the intersection outside and straight into the side of the building, where his friends had been gathered.

Instead, Watari had been rushing down the street, attempting to make it in time. Just before the car appeared, Oikawa had raised his eyes and met Watari’s gaze with a smile.

Time shifted and everything became a blur. There was the car, and then the mangled bodies of his friends intermingled with glass and bricks, and he forced himself not to look, and he blinked and the place was swarming with ambulances and law enforcement.

Rather than stretchers, there were body bags.

Watari wasn’t going to wait to find out who had survived, whose body had been torn apart under the relentless metal missile.

He sat on the sidewalk, his head in his hands, and did something he hadn’t done in years, because it was all he could think to do.

Everything jolted and faded to black.

*

Ten minutes were all he was granted.

When Watari opened his eyes, he was sat on the shuttle train watching the high-rise blocks of the city cutting into the sunlight outside and throwing the compartment into shadow.

Immediately, he leaped to his feet, his heart in his throat. A few people on the train gave him odd looks, and he struggled to look casual even as he prepared to run.

As soon as they reached the same stop, he took off, running faster than he ever had before in his life.

Still, he was too late.

Panting outside the restaurant, just as he crossed the road to reach the glass front, the car appeared in the corner of his vision, and he threw himself out of the way. No use getting himself killed.

Sitting among the wreckage, Watari knew what he had to do. He swallowed and closed his eyes.

*

After the fourth attempt, he realized that simply trying to make it there on time wouldn’t be enough. He had raced down the street as fast as his legs would carry him, pounded on the window to get their attention, yet that hadn’t worked. All it had earned him were a couple of quizzical glances that turned to horror as he leaped to the safety of the sidewalk opposite, just in time.

*

On the seventh attempt, he found his resolve breaking.

Even as a child experimenting with his powers, before his mother had warned him of the extreme danger that those like himself faced, he had never been able to go back more than fifteen minutes or so.

This situation was no different: He had tried and failed. But he had to keep testing, when even seconds could make a difference.

By now, he had the entire route planned, the ways to avoid all possible interruptions, and which pedestrians to duck around memorized.

Standing on the pavement opposite and watching his friends die, Watari swallowed and pushed further than he ever had before.

*

He blinked back to reality on the train out of the hospital.

It hadn’t worked.

Watari stood by the doors, took a deep breath, and prepared to run.

*

On the tenth attempt, Watari found himself once more on the train.

Except.

Except.

There were no skyscrapers outside.

He had just boarded the train, and they were still making their way from the hospital grounds back into Central.

Four minutes.

Four minutes earlier than he was before.

It didn’t make a difference when the train doors opened. But it was a start.

*

On the eleventh attempt, Watari was back to where he was before: Ten minutes prior to the accident, watching skyscrapers flitting steely grey against the blue sky.

He didn’t run from the train, not this time. This time he stayed on board, sat on his phone, watching the clock and the various stations that the train stopped at. After a few minutes, he closed his eyes.

It took a while after each jump for him to have enough ‘charge’ for the next one. If he could just go back at the earliest time possible… He could stop this.

There was a huge chance of being discovered; things like this left traces. And so little chance of saving them. But… He had to try.

*

On the twelfth attempt Watari got off of the shuttle one station later and arrived at the restaurant thirty seconds earlier.

He pounded on the glass, sobbing, and this time Oikawa got to his feet, moved away, and so did Kunimi. They didn’t make it out of the restaurant, but they stepped closer to the door to hear what Warari was saying.

His eyes met Kunimi’s just as the car slammed into him.

Oikawa screamed.

Watari collapsed. It was too much. He was done. No more, please.

*

He first became aware of himself when he realized that they had taken him to the hospital. The feeling came back slowly, first to his numb fingers and toes, and then to his chest which burned in agony.

Asides from Oikawa, he had no idea who had lived, if anybody. The nurses hovering nearby his seat in the hallway gave him nervous glances, enough that he knew there was little good news.

He had no idea how much time had passed when they finally allowed him in to see Oikawa.

The captain was sat propped up in the bed, his face pale. He was unscathed but, as one of the nurses had told him, in shock. She had said it fearfully, as though she was concerned that Watari was not also experiencing shock. He thought they must have let him in as they believed it would comfort them both.

Oikawa was wrapped in a blanket, and his entire body shook when Watari went to him, his arms clinging to Watari's own.

“How?”, he gasped in between sobs. “How did you know, how?”

Watari withdrew minutely to stare at him, wide-eyed. There was no way he could say it: Even if he had been one hundred percent certain that nobody was listening, which he wasn’t, he was not in the frame of mind to form a coherent explanation.

He could see as the understanding dawned on Oikawa.

His eyes wide, Oikawa whispered, as if from a dream; “That’s why you never told us.”

“I had to let it happen, Oikawa”, Watari whispered shakily. He clung to Oikawa’s pale hands with his own, trying to tell him, to tell himself; “I couldn’t change it too much, I tried, but I couldn’t. I had to let it happen or that would know.”

They were both trembling so hard Watari wasn’t even sure how his legs held him up.

“Why?”, Oikawa whispered fiercely. His eyes had turned dark. “You called out to me, specifically. Why?”

“I couldn’t- I tried… You’re our leader…And you were watching…”

“So the others… It was okay for them t- to die?” Oikawa was sobbing, now, and Watari knew he didn’t mean it, he knew he didn’t, not really, but it hurt so bad.

“No! Oikawa, no, you know… If I could have done anything to save them, I would have… You know I would.” He began to cry. “I tried so many times, to save all of you. But I can’t.”

Oikawa took a deep breath and released it slowly, staring into Watari’s crumpled face. “I’m sorry, Watari. I’m grateful, really. I just… I wouldn’t have wanted to… Die with them, but. Without them. I don’t know how we can. I can’t.” He rolled onto his side, away from Watari, and didn’t speak any more.

Watari tried again.

*

He found a secluded corridor in the hospital. It had been two hours since the accident, and they’d sedated him upon arrival. He didn’t know if it was even possible.

*

He went back, and he was in the hospital room with Oikawa.

As before, Oikawa clung to him and sobbed, and before he could even speak, Watari whispered; “I’m so sorry.”

*

Watari made his way back to the corridor, garnering strange looks from people he passed that he tried not to be paranoid over.

He once more made it back to Oikawa’s hospital room.

*

It took thirty tries, twelve of which landed him on the way to the hospital, and four upsetting tries landing him on site just as the accident happened.

He watched his friends’ bodies be dragged from the wreckage, bloody and broken, watched the driver of the car cry as she was pulled from her vehicle, and closed his eyes.

*

On his next attempt, Watari made it back further than he ever had before: He was still seated in the office at the hospital as the doctor spoke to him. They were just coming to the end of their consultation. His eyes turned to the clock on the wall, above the large potted plant in the corner.

Twenty minutes until the accident.

Ignoring the astonished gasp from his doctor, Watari jumped out of his seat and raced down the hall, down the stairs, past the reception, all the way to the shuttle station.

He missed the earlier train by two minutes.

Watari pressed his palms to his eyes, blotting out everything around him.

Two minutes.

At least now he had that goal.

Two minutes.

He sank to his knees on the floor of the train station, closed his eyes, and tried again.

*

The next time, he was just thirty seconds too late.

He got onto the next train anyway. Trying one more time couldn’t hurt.

As he rode along, he wondered idly what he had done differently to go back further. Was it the desperation with which he attempted to change the situation? Or was it simply that he’d had more practice?

When he stepped out of the shuttle, he began the familiar route, pushing past people, hearing their startled cries. He didn't think he imagined, now, their preemptive glances, the way some of them even stepped aside at the last minute. They may not have known he was coming, but the traces were there, the memories buried deep in the back of their minds.

He rounded the corner. The restaurant was right there.

More cries rang out behind him, and he glanced back over his shoulder as he ran.

City guards, marked by their blue and white uniforms, were tracing his route, and they were gaining on him, shoving civilians out of their way.

They had found him.

Watari didn’t even cross the street to the restaurant before he closed his eyes and the scene changed.

*

Why can’t he make the train?

He was off by a few seconds, every time.

*

Watari had no choice but to keep going. Even if they had found him, even if he couldn’t make it in time, there was no way he could stop. He had no other choice. Knowing he had the chance to save his friends if he just tried one more time, pushed that little bit harder, and giving up on them was unthinkable.

Oikawa. Yahaba. Kyoutani. Iwaizumi. Hanamaki. Matsukawa. Kindaichi. Kunimi. Their faces flashed before his eyes as he stepped onto the last train that would take him to the restaurant and then got off after a train ride that passed all too quickly at the second stop.

Central were already waiting at the top of the road.

A line of City Guards, some armed with guns, watched his approach calmly. Waiting to see what he would do.

Watari found his feet faltering, slowing from a run to a stroll, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

They had cordoned the road off.

Makeshift barricades stood at the end of the street, barring access.

There was no use fighting now. Watari approached them slowly, the restaurant swinging into view. There were his friends, drinking and laughing, as usual. Oikawa glanced up and spotted him, as always, beginning to point him out to the others.

His head turned instinctively at the arrival of the car; there was a screech and then crashing sounds as it smashed into the barriers, drifting to a halt in the center of the road.

Arms reached to restrain Watari, but he no longer cared. He screamed in joy as he dropped to his knees.

The last thing he saw was the concern on his friends’ faces as they stood, unaware of how close they had come to death, and then everything went dark.


	4. Chapter 4

Although he was not supposed to, Oikawa woke up.

It took some time. His mind floated, drifting in and out of consciousness. At one point he thought that Iwaizumi was standing over him, speaking to him, and he wanted to reach out, but then Iwaizumi was gone.

When he finally awoke completely, it was with a startled gasp. The harsh lighting overhead was incredibly bright and when he sat up blood rushed to his head, pulsing behind his eyes and blinding him for a few seconds.

“Well, it woke him up”, a familiar voice said to his right, and he turned his head slowly, so slowly, to find himself face to face with Hanamaki. A smile slowly spread across his friend’s face. “Hey, sleeping beauty. Finally decided to join us?”

Oikawa gaped around at the rest of the room. It was a hospital room, it seemed, white and clinical, and private; there was only the one bed in the room. His bed, apparently. As well as the overhead lights, there was a window on one wall through which natural light flooded in. Several shadows were clustered in a loose ring a few feet back from the bed, and as he blinked they came into focus.

Besides Hanamaki, Matsukawa was leaning against the wall, his face unusually grim as he met Oikawa’s gaze. Kunimi and Kindaichi stood bunched together in one corner, neither of them looking at him. Kyoutani was by the door, hovering right by it as though he were about to leave. Yahaba leaned against the window frame. To his left was Iwaizumi.

He took them in one by one, drinking in their faces in silence, his mouth working.

Where was Watari? Hadn’t something happened to him? There were flashes- vague memories, broken things- but nothing concrete.

Oikawa leaned forwards, resting his face in his hands, and took shuddering breaths, fighting against the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

The one thing he remembered clearly was the voice.

“What the hell was that?”, he croaked out, once he could speak. He let his hands run down his chin and then removed them, feeling the almost-beard there. “How long have I been here?”

“A few weeks”, Iwaizumi told him tersely. His face was lined with worry, and Oikawa wanted to reassure him, wanted to- he immediately shut that thought down before it could finish, just in case. Was this real? How did he know that he had his head completely to himself again?

“Is it-” He stopped himself. “Are we safe? In here?”

“It is”, Matsukawa answered quietly, his voice deadly serious for once. “For now, at least.”

“What the hell happened?”

“You heard the voice, too, didn’t you?”, Yahaba asked. When Oikawa swiveled to look at him, his face was bleached pale in the light that surrounded him and pinched. “Making you look back at- at stuff. From the past.”

When Oikawa nodded slowly, unsure, Iwaizumi said; “Central interrogated you. They did the same to us. You were the last to wake up.”

Hanamaki shuffled uncomfortably. “They don’t know what to do with you. With any of us. They wouldn’t let us leave the ward. The ones who should have died.”

“The ones Watari brought back”, whispered Kindaichi.

“They don’t know what to do with Watari”, Yahaba said, and he shuddered.

Iwaizumi’s hand on his arm had Oikwa sinking back down onto his pillow, closing his eyes, attempting to use the touch to ground himself. He listened solemnly as his old friend spoke. “For a while, we were all on lockdown. Of course, eventually, people realized we weren’t playing, and that nobody had seen us. There were rumors. Some fans began to protest. A few other teams have apparently gone on strike until we play them again.”

Oikawa opened his eyes. “So, what happened?”

“We’re beloved athletes. Not top tier figures in Central or anything, but still well-known. If anything, this has confirmed it. We’re going to be in the one percent when we retire. Part of Central. They’re letting us go.”

He let out a long breath, unsure of how to feel about that. Oikawa allowed himself to meet Iwaizumi’s gaze for a long moment, then he propped himself up once more to look around at his team.

Something in the corner, half-hidden behind Yahaba, caught his eye.

Watari.

Oikawa’s heart clenched, and he dug his hands into his bedsheets: Half out of relief that Watari was here, half in anguish. The libero was curled in on himself, facing the wall. He looked tiny, little more than a child.

“I should be dead”, Oikawa said quietly. He wasn't entirely sure how he knew that with such certainty, but he did. It wasn't even akin to a thought that one had when they experienced a narrow escape, just a simple fact: He should not be alive.

Watari’s head snapped towards him, bloodshot eyes becoming visible for a moment, and then away again. He hunched over further, quivering.

Pushing back the blankets over his legs, Oikawa staggered to his feet, finding that the hospital gown he wore crinkled unpleasantly loudly.

Hanamaki leaped forward to steady him but Oikawa waved him away, clinging to his bedframe until he could remain upright- which admittedly took a few tense minutes- and then moved slowly across the room, one step at a time. Watari didn’t move as he approached.

“Watari”, he breathed; wet his lips; repeated; “Watari.” Stooping, Oikawa guided his arms to envelope Watari in a hug. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Watari’s heart was beating hard, and he felt the shorter man tense and then relax. There was a sob. Then two more.

“I can’t believe I owe my life to a libero”, Oikawa continued, and a bubble of laughter escaped among the sobs.

Oikawa sank down onto his haunches next to Watari, leaning his head back against the wall.

He looked around the room. Kindaichi and Kyoutani were looking down. Iwaizumi and Yahaba watched them intently. Kunimi had moved forward to stand next to Hanamaki, Matsukawa on their other side.

Watari slowly raised his head. “I never did anything like that before. I tried a few times, as a kid. But I didn’t even know if it was going to work until I did it.” He clenched his fists. “I was so scared.”

“I’m sorry you had to do that alone”, Oikawa said, and he didn’t relinquish his hold on his teammate.

“I visited you here, you know”, said Watari. “When you were the only one who… I could never skip it, not right away. You would talk to me, and then I would wait until you turned away from me.”

Oikawa thought that maybe he half-remembered.

“I would have kept trying. No matter how many times it took.” The younger man took a shuddering breath. “I’ve demanded a fair trial. I don’t know whether I’ll get it, but…”

“Trial? For what?”

Watari’s eyes were wide and round. “I didn’t reveal my power. People know me, so… They won’t hurt me. But they want to imprison me and… Study me, I guess. Apparently, it’s for the good of the public.”

“No.” Oikawa spoke with all the authority of his captain’s position.

“We’re not going to let that happen, right?" Yahaba looked wildly around the room. “We can’t. Right?”

There was a long silence, and Oikawa’s arm found its way back around Watari’s shaking shoulders.

“No.” When he spoke, his voice was resolute and firm. “We won’t let that happen.”

Yahaba let out a shaky breath and knelt to take Watari’s hand. Oikawa felt warmth to his back, and when he turned Hanamaki and Matsukawa had moved forward to crouch beside him. A touch on his wrist revealed Iwaizumi’s steadying presence. A moment later, the entire team was huddled together in silence.

Hot breath hit Oikawa’s cheek, and he felt rather than saw the tears running down Watari’s face.

“Thank you”, the libero whispered, “but you don’t…”

Oikawa said; “We’re a team. And we’re going to face this as a team, okay?” He summoned up all of the positive emotions he was capable of feeling, ignoring how drained and tired his body was, and radiated them out in a burst of warmth.

“They won’t take you.” Kyoutani’s voice was fierce. Oikawa saw he had one hand over where Watari and Yahaba’s were clasped tightly; the other rested on Yahaba’s back.

“You’re not dangerous, Watari”, murmured Kindaichi. His hair was half-flattened where he leaned his head into Kunimi’s shoulder. “We’ll tell them.”

“You’re staying with us”, Hanamaki put in, and Matsukawa nodded beside him.

“We’ll do this”, Iwaizumi said, voice barely above a whisper yet still resounding within the room, largely silent except for their breathing.

His fingers found Oikawa’s, and Oikawa turned his head slightly so that he could see the stern, resolute look on Iwaizumi’s face. He knew that look. He had ever since they were children, just two little boys playing in the park who swore they would make a better life for themselves. Except now it wasn’t just themselves that they had to work for. It was this family of theirs, that they were trying to dismantle.

_We won’t let anything happen to them_ , Oikawa thought, and Iwaizumi blinked slowly, as though he understood, his grip tightening.

“I… Thank you.” Watari kept his face hidden against Oikawa, shuffling further into his captain’s embrace, and his voice shook. “Thank you.”

- **And that is the truth?**

-That is the truth.

- **You believe he should remain free?**

-I do. Yes, I do. We’ve all had our differences in the past, but Watari is a core part of our team, and he poses no danger to anybody. We need him. That’s all.

- **No further questions.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, the last chapter.
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this and did have some ideas for possibly continuing and further exploring this universe, however I feel that this is a good place to leave off with. I hope someone out there liked it!


End file.
